


Quickies Aren't Always Meant to be Quickies

by sherlockislovely



Series: Awkward. [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Quickie, Blowjobs, Couch Sex, Fast Sex, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockislovely/pseuds/sherlockislovely
Summary: “May I?” John asked into Sherlock’s mouth.Sherlock nodded quickly and groaned, “God, yes, anything.”





	Quickies Aren't Always Meant to be Quickies

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, I actually wrote this, even though I'm buried in work for uni. Shout-out to Grammarly for making it quick and easy to do a fast last edit. Also, is this smut? This is smut. Well, there's a first time for everything.

It was spring and, just as most people were dragging the dust bunnies from under their beds and throwing out old clothes, Sherlock was organizing the rooms of his mind palace. They had become cluttered, after all, and it seemed John’s room would need to be expanded. He probably needed his own wing, if Sherlock was being honest.

He was lying on his back on the sofa, fingertips pressed up under his chin. It had been a few hours since he had started, or perhaps longer. Sherlock wasn’t sure, being too distracted by the organizing of all the different sensations certain fabrics of John’s clothing felt against his skin. Cataloging them.

The t-shirt John wore to bed, for example, glided easily under his fingertips when Sherlock hiked it up to settle his hands at John’s back. John’s canvas jacket, which rubbed roughly against Sherlock’s wrist when they held hands across the seat in a cab. John’s cable knit socks, which tickled Sherlock’s toes from under the table as they ate Chinese takeout.

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts as a heavy weight settled across his entire body. He blinked his eyes open, but his vision was mostly obscured by sandy grey hair.

“You smell like vomit and antibacterial soap,” Sherlock said, moving his hands to either side of John’s shoulders. The doctor, who was lying face down on top of the detective, grunted and tucked his right hand in between Sherlock’s waist and the sofa cushion.

“Flu’s going around,” John mumbled. Suddenly, he lifted his head and squinted at Sherlock, “You got your shot, right?”

“Last week,” Sherlock replied, and John nodded and slightly, starting to turn his face back down into Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock stopped the movement with his hand against John’s jaw and their eyes met. John smiled tiredly at him.

“Hello.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, choosing instead to lean his head down and capture John’s mouth with his own. Their lips glided against each other softly, lazily. Sherlock felt John grin against him and leaned his head back against the arm of the sofa. John tapped Sherlock’s temple.

“What were you thinking about? Before I got home.”

“Mind Palace. Organizing. Renovating. Expanding.”

“Oh? Making room for the solar system?”

Sherlock smirked as John settled his head back down to his chest, small ends of soft hair tickling his chin, “Of course not. You, however, are taking up a ridiculous amount of space.”

“Why don’t you just delete some of it? I don’t need that much space.”

“Delete it? I can’t delete it. Everything about you is important.” Sherlock frowned and ran his hand over John’s good shoulder. John looked up once again and studied Sherlock’s serious expression.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Sherlock huffed and looked up at the ceiling as John laced their hands together, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

It was silent for a moment before Sherlock felt John’s lips against his neck, hot breath on his skin, and he released a surprised but contented sigh. John’s free hand traced up Sherlock’s waist, along his collarbone, and then up into his uncombed curls. All the while, his mouth worked at Sherlock’s pulse point, leaving wet trails underneath his jaw.

“John-“

“Shh,” John whispered, pressing kisses across Sherlock’s cheek until their lips met once again. This time, John didn’t hesitate to run his tongue along Sherlock’s lower lip and Sherlock opened his mouth enough for John to enter. John let go of Sherlock’s hand and curled it around the detective’s back to pull him closer. Their groins grinded together and Sherlock’s eyes flew open and his hand clutched at John’s sleeve.

“Ah- John…” He moaned, and his hips moved responsively. John’s hand loosened slightly on Sherlock’s back and his face pulled back to look at the blush running up Sherlock's neck to his ears and cheeks.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, kissing the edge of Sherlock’s mouth, “beautiful,” another kiss to the other side of his mouth.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, watching John lick his lips slowly, his tongue dragging along his swollen mouth. John leaned in again, then, caressing Sherlock’s tongue with his own. The hand behind the detective’s back circled around to the front of his pajama bottoms and John’s middle finger ran underneath the waistband.

“May I?” John asked into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock nodded quickly and groaned as John’s finger danced over the crease of his pelvis.

“God, yes, anything.”

John grinned deviously and pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s jaw, then mouthed his way down his chest. He pulled up the hem of Sherlock’s shirt and licked a circle around his belly button and ran his tongue down to his hips. John moved Sherlock’s legs to either side of his waist and ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock looked down at the doctor between his legs and couldn’t help the broken sound that escaped his throat.

They hadn’t done this before, this thing that John was so obviously preparing to do. They had kissed, snogged, groped, frotted: yes. Wanked next to each other once, even. But Sherlock had never had John’s mouth over him, around him, never felt that wet heat on his cock, and until that moment he hadn’t realized how much we wanted it. How much he needed it.

“-these off,” John’s voice pulled him back and Sherlock blinked down at him. His mind finally caught up and he lifted his hips so John could pull his pajamas off and down his legs, leaving his rising erection exposed to the room. John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s knee and smiled, “Okay?”

Sherlock couldn’t say anything, just nodded as John met his gaze. John’s eyes gleamed and he folded one of Sherlock’s legs over his arm. He rubbed his thumb into Sherlock’s hip as he kissed his way down his inner thigh, pausing above Sherlock’s cock, which was now full and jutting up proudly from his hip.

“Lovely.” John’s breath reached the tip of his cock and something electric shot up Sherlock’s spine. John gently ran his tongue from the tip down and then back up and Sherlock spasmed at the new sensation.

“Joh-!” Sherlock gripped the arm of the sofa near his head and arched his back involuntarily, “Fu- I don’t think I’m… going to… Ah! Last…”

John grinned against his cock and mouthed at the tip, swiping his tongue deftly over the pool of precome. He took half of Sherlock’s length into his mouth and slid his tongue underneath the shaft. Sherlock bucked his hips and then he was coming, his hand grasping at John’s hair.

John, surprised at the suddenness, choked at the length of Sherlock’s cock forced further into his mouth and the come trying to shoot down his throat. His eyes watered a bit as he pulled back, and Sherlock shook under him, finishing against his mouth and chin.

Sherlock slapped the hand not in John’s hair over his eyes, mortified. John had barely just got started and Sherlock hadn’t even lasted a full _minute_. John wiped off his chin and mouth, leaning up to whisper in Sherlock’s ear.

“That was incredibly hot,” he whispered. Sherlock groaned and moved his other hand from John’s head so he could cover his entire face.

“Don’t,” Sherlock mumbled into his hands. John lifted a few of Sherlock’s fingers so his eye was visible.

“You really shouldn’t be embarrassed. If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be me,” John said, causing Sherlock to raise an eyebrow and shift his hand away from his face. John looked pointedly down at his crotch and Sherlock noted the wet spot emerging on his trousers.

“Oh.”

“How the hell are we ever going to last for sex?” John laughed somewhat awkwardly, pressing the tip of nose to Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he breathed out heavily.

“You mean… penetrative sex?”

John leaned away with a wary expression and swallowed, pressing his hand into the sofa cushion near Sherlock’s shoulders, “I was just joking, we don’t have to… I mean, I would like to, but it’s absolutely okay if… I’m not saying we will-“

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s to quiet him then pulled back and nodded, “I do want to. Eventually. Obviously, we might have to work up to it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Of course,” John smiled down at him and moved to lay back down on Sherlock, but the detective’s hand pressed against his chest, stopping him before he could, “Wha-“

“You’re covered in both of our…” Sherlock moved his hand in a grand motion toward their lower parts. John looked down and he blushed as Sherlock’s words clicked.

“Oh! Yeah, good thinking,” John pulled off and stood up from the couch. He looked down at Sherlock’s debauched, half-nude form and tilted his head, “God, you really are lovely.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled his pajama bottoms back up over his hips, “Go, you teenager.”

John shook his head and took one last look at Sherlock, who closed his eyes and steepled his fingers (probably documenting the experience) before turning toward the bathroom. Sherlock peeked one eye open as the doctor walked through the kitchen and studied the way his lower body shifted in his trousers. He shook himself and closed his eyes again.

John Watson would be the life and death of him, and he knew it.

Which was fine with him, _obviously_.


End file.
